


Demons

by whatdoyouthinkmyjobis



Series: Hunters on the Hellmouth [10]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Supernatural
Genre: Background Alastair, Buffy Flirts, Childhood Memories, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Dean Cooks, Demons, Denial of Feelings, Dirty Talk, Domestic Dean Winchester, F/M, Kissing, Lies, Monster of the Week, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Plotty, Research, Sex, Sexual Content, Smart Buffy, Surprises, Time Travel, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-11
Updated: 2016-08-11
Packaged: 2018-08-08 05:19:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7744828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatdoyouthinkmyjobis/pseuds/whatdoyouthinkmyjobis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While everyone is busy researching the new monster in town, Buffy does some digging into Dean's past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Demons

The wipers swished against the gentle summer rain, and Dean grumbled as they idled at a stoplight. "Lightning my ass. There weren’t even any burn marks. If this were home, I’d be leaning toward wraith; but who the the hell knows here. Wounds were too big for a wraith anyway.”

After visiting the morgue to look at the body of someone killed the previous night in what the newspapers were calling a freak act of God, the Winchesters were driving through the rain on their way to Buffy’s for a night of research with the Scoobies. Until they knew how to kill whatever it was, no one was going on patrol.

“Buffy said something about killing a pole dancer demon –”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not what it’s called,” said Sam, flipping through the case file once more.

“Whatever it was called, she said they had skewer things that came outta their arms, but there would’a been less of the body left if it’d been one a them.”

The light finally turned green.

Sam watched his brother’s tense profile. Much to his surprise, Dean and Buffy were still together after two weeks. Even though his face lit up when he saw her, Dean weirdly avoided talking about her, and just that morning he’d reminded Sam they would be hitting the road in a few weeks.

“So, how are you and Buffy?” Sam asked.

“What? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t get defensive, man! It’s just small talk.”

“Sam, we live together. We work together. We eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner together. You know when I come and go; when I see her. You and I do not talk small. What the hell are you askin’ me?”

Sam closed the file, and tucked it under his arm, giving his brother his full attention. “Is everything okay with you two?”

“Everything’s awesome,” he answered tersely. “Why?”

Something must have happened the night of the vampire attack a week prior. Dean and Buffy had been so into each while getting patched up, Sam half expected them to start fucking while he was still in the room. Yet Dean had stopped going on extra patrols with Buffy, sticking to his rotation with Sam. Curiously, he hadn’t stayed the night with her either.

“You just seem to be running hot and cold. You keep suggesting plans post-Sunnydale like leaving isn’t a big deal, but you couldn’t keep your hands off of each other when we were over there a couple nights ago. Yeah, I saw. You’re not subtle, Dean.”

“What? I’m not allowed to enjoy sex now without it being some big thing?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “I just don’t want things to head south between you.”

“Nothing’s headed south! Quality time or whatever isn’t a factor. It’s just sex, Sammy. You remember sex, right? Besides, did you think I was going to let you do a _Die Hard_ marathon without me? Please.”

Sam liked Sunnydale. He liked not packing every few days. He liked the steadiness of nightly vampires. He’d even read two books since they’d been in town. He didn’t want to admit it, but he’d missed Dean. Missed his terrible jokes. Missed his completely inappropriate timing. A weekend with his brother, beer, and John McClain made Sunnydale feel more like home.

They pulled into the grocery store parking lot. On the list: alcohol, antiseptic and pizza toppings. “So if it’s just sex, why are you making her dinner tonight?”

“I’m making dinner for _everyone_. My pride is on the line here,” Dean said as he grabbed a cart.

Having be subjected to so many of his brother’s culinary experiments – from mac and cheese with marshmallow fluff to cans of tuna with cheese-in-a-can and sunflower seeds – Sam was more concerned about his stomach than Dean’s pride.

“I seriously don’t remember you ever making pizza when we were kids.”

“Hey, it happened! It’s not like we were always somewhere with an oven. My pizza is fucking glorious, and you always loved it. I’m gonna jog your memory tonight. Crust from scratch! Mrs. Giuntoli would be pissed if she knew I was taking sauce shortcuts.”

“How was this woman such an influence? I don’t remember her at all.“

"How do you not remember that terrible black wig? It was summer in Florida and the woman basically wore a fuckin’ cat on her head every damn day.”

“That sounds vaguely familiar. Did she have a lot of plants?”

“Yes! That’s her! You were only seven, and she thought you were the shit. ‘Oh, Sammy’s just the sweetest boy! Look at him read! Dean, why aren’t you like your brother?’ She kept you in pastries and books, and made me clean motel rooms with her all day. Then, she wanted to make sure I was feeding you right, so she kept me in the kitchen at night and taught me how to cook.” Dean shook his head in disbelief. “Caught me with porn once – _BOOM_ – sentence of servitude.”

“That explains why you’re a burger-loving slob.”

“Sam, I am not above decking you by the tomatoes.”

* * *

 

Xander rested his head on the back of the couch and closed his eyes. It simply couldn’t be true. It was a spell or a charm or a lie. Not truth. “You’re telling me that Dean Winchester, Mr. rock-n-roll, beer-swilling, manly man in a muscle car knows how to cook?”

“No. I’m telling you he _said_ he could cook and both Sam and I thought he was lying,” said Buffy. “He’s making pizza tonight from scratch, but I put Domino’s on speed dial for when this all goes up in flames.” She paused. “Hopefully not literal flames.”

“That’s the sort of support on which lasting relationships are built.”

“Speaking of, Anya’s a no-show tonight.“

He’d been grilling her non-stop about Dean, who at least wasn’t a vampire, so he decided to let the barb go by.

"Not a surprise. Our last exchange was cold and hard enough to sink the Titanic.”

“I don’t think it’s all you. She’s shy about helping us now that she’s back to being a demon. Plus, she said she’s talked to the Winchesters enough to rank them on her threat index.”

“There’s an index now?”

“Color coded.”

A familiar engine purred in the driveway.

“They’re heeeerrreee!” sang Dawn as she skipped down the stairs to the front porch.

“Please, tell me she does that when she hears me pulling up,” pleaded Xander.

Buffy patted him on the back. “You are still her favorite, Xander. The Winchesters are just new and shiny. Plus, Sam promised to bring her music of fuuutuuure,” she said with sweeping hand gestures.

“That’s only okay if Sam also shows us 2010’s hottest dance moves, too. It will take me that long to master them.”

Imagining them all doing some boy band footwork sent Buffy into a giggle fit.

Dawn dashed back in with Sam’s laptop case slung over her shoulder and Twizzlers hanging from her mouth. She quickly started setting up the computer.

“It’s iTunes?” she called, mouth still full of candy, to the Winchesters as they came through the door. “How do you have iTunes? This isn’t even a Macintosh.”

“ITunes has been available for other systems for a while,” said Sam. “Hi, Xander. Buffy.”

“Hey.” With a small wave Dean blew into the kitchen with a few bags of groceries.

Reclaiming his laptop, Sam began to open music as he filled everyone in on what they’d learned. “We paid a visit to the morgue this afternoon. Looked at the vic.”

“I miss all the fun!” whined Xander, who’d only heard there was a new nasty in town.

“Obviously not a lightning strike like the official story says. The deathblow was to the heart. Wound about three inches wide, but it tapered off considerably toward the back. It went all the way through, but barely.”

“Is any of this danceable?” Dawn leaned on him, pointing over his shoulder.

“Dawn, hang on a minute,” demanded Buffy. “Tapered like a stake?”

“Not really, because get this, the toxicology report said the victim had been pumped full of a neurotoxin. If he hadn’t already died from being stabbed in the heart, the victim would have been paralyzed when his eyes were removed.”

“His eyes were removed?” Buffy and Xander asked in unison.

“Here’s a copy of the file. Pictures may ruin your appetite.”

Even at a distance, the gruesome photos were enough to make Xander’s stomach church. “Again, why wasn’t I invited to this party? Who doesn’t want to look at bodies right before dinner?”

“Is Modest Mouse any good?”

Buffy flipped through the pictures of the body and crime scene. “How did you break into the morgue in the middle of the day without anyone seeing you?”

“We, uh, didn’t break in,” Sam said matter-of-fact. “You’d be surprised at how far you can get if you put on a suit, flash a badge, and pretend you’re supposed to be there.”

“Did you say ‘suit?’” asked Buffy, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah.”

“You own a suit? Dean was with you? Dean owns a _suit_?! Excuse me.” Buffy skipped to the kitchen with a grin.

“‘Flash a badge?’ Isn’t that several levels of illegal?’ asked Xander, adding an item to his list of red flags.

“Yeah,” Sam sighed.

* * *

 

Buffy stopped in the kitchen doorway and watched Dean, focused on chopping garlic. A pot boiled on the stove. He’d already managed to clean the kitchen she’d been ignoring for a couple days.

 _Maybe he wasn’t lying_ , she thought. She hopped up on the counter next to where he was cooking.

“You look mighty springy for such a gray day, Girly.”

She wore a floral skirt and a pale pink babydoll t-shirt with a deep v-neck. “Dean Winchester, are you telling me I look cute? In California, guys normally just say ‘Lookin’ good,’ or there’s the more forward ‘Hey, sexy.’ Personally, I like the classic, ‘You look pretty.’”

He smirked at her fishing and tossed the garlic and onions into the pot of boiling tomatoes.

“Is that Fall Out Boy?” he grumbled as he scrubbed his fingers. “You gonna let Sammy lead Dawn astray like that?”

“I certainly am. Back to clothes, heard you got all spiffy today. A suit? You own a suit? And you thought, ‘I know! I’ll ditch 007 for my Texas tuxedo. Make all the ladies swoon.’”

Drying his hands, Dean looked down at his jeans and denim shirt and shrugged. “I don’t think women care too much about what I’m wearing.”

Proving his point, he sauntered up to her, his calloused hands pushing her skirt around her hips. He buried his face in her cleavage, kissing and sucking, making his mark, and pushed her panties to her knees.

Buffy had to stifle a squeal of delight.

He slid two fingers inside of her. “Mmm, already wet for me.”

Thrilled, she gasped, “Dean! Someone could walk in!”

He stopped kissing her, withdrew his fingers, and gave her a sly grin. “Don’t want anyone to think you’re swoony.”

“Point taken, Kansas. You’re going to have to wash your hands again unless you want the food to taste like me.” Buffy breathily teased as she pushed her skirt down and pulled her shirt over her bra. Her panties she let fall off her knees and onto the floor.

He licked his slick fingertips. “I don’t know. You taste pretty good to me.”

She had wanted him to take her right there. Truth be told, she wanted more of him than she knew he would be willing to give. She wanted to stay up late in the night, hands caressing each other as they unwound the darkness they were keeping spooled inside. She felt safe with him, like she could open up and be herself for once without judgement, without pain. More than anything, she didn’t want him to leave Sunnydale.

Picking the smallest mountain, she purred, “Maybe later we can finish this?”

Dean washed his hands again and started tossing spices in the pot. “God, is she listening to The Killers? This music sucks!” he yelled to the rest of the house.

“Bite me,” Sam retorted from the other room.

Turning back to her, his wolfish sexuality replaced with boyish sweetness, he asked, “Hey, how’s the job hunt going?”

“The Espresso Pump wanted me!”

“Yeah? Have they seen you make sugar water?’

“My coffee’s not sugar water. I couldn’t take the job anyway. Like those two waitressing jobs, it was night shift. I already work nights.”

“I think I’m supposed to tell you to keep your head up and just keep looking. Something will open up. Right? Hustlin’ ain’t that bad, though, if you wanna tell them to shove it.”

“The pirate’s life is not for me.”

She watched him move around her kitchen gathering the ingredients for pizza dough with ease, with comfort. She couldn’t imagine his life on the road gave him many opportunities for home.

_Stay with me._

“Remember when we said we were going to spend a weekend together?” she asked while rubbing her foot up his thigh. “You were going to try to wear me out? We haven’t had our weekend yet. You’re only here a couple more weeks, and this is Labor Day weekend. You get an extra shot. We could start with that thing you were just doing.” She smiled and cocked her head to the side, hoping she seemed more playful than desperate.

He glanced at her from the corner of his sad eyes. “Buffy, if you want to have at it later, we can, but I ain’t staying the night.”

“Why not?”

Dean continued working on the dough and said nothing.

“Is this about the nightmares?” Buffy hopped off the counter and stood next to him. “Dean, _talk_ to me. I won’t ask you to spill on your nightmares, but at least tell me why you won’t stay with me tonight.”

They hadn’t talked about their night of nightmares, his outburst, his reminder that all she was to him was a willing body. The next day, he’d come over for dinner. They flirted. He babysat Dawn while Sam researched and she patrolled. When she called him later, he came to her, showering her with kisses and caresses far more tender than a quick fuck called for.

Dean started kneading. “I ain’t staying because nights aren’t my best. They’ve been better since we got here, but I still wake up screaming if I don’t drown myself in whiskey first.”

She wrapped her arms around him and laid her head on his back. “I was just looking at pictures of a guy missing his eyes. My life isn’t exactly _Gilmore Girls_. I know what those nightmares are like, but I’d rather have to shake you awake a couple times a night, than you drown yourself in anything. Besides, we won’t be doing much sleeping.”

* * *

 

Dawn, determined to squeeze the life out of her last weekend before high school started, had passed out on the couch, tired from dancing and full of pizza. Everyone else was gathered around the dining table scattered with plates and books. Food comas weren’t an option with something evil on the loose.   

“It’s not much – thanks 2002 internet,” Sam grumbled, “but I did manage to find a tabloid article about an unsolved mystery from 1927. Happened right outside of Cleveland; all the deaths were near the Lake Erie shore. Five people were stabbed over the period of a week, eyes removed. Nothing ever caught or killed. The deaths just stopped.”

“I almost hate to ask, but what did they say it was?”

“Aliens.”

“Of course,” said Xander. “Why think it’s a demon when you can be comforted by the thought of an alien probe? Experimentation gone wrong gives everyone the warm and fuzzies.”

“I’m going to grab some other books,” said Buffy.

“And I’m getting pizza. Can’t believe he can actually cook,” Xander muttered to no one as he left the room.

In the living room, Buffy grabbed _Water Creatures_ , _The Demon Lifecycle_ , _Demon Poisons_ , and _Notum Daemonia_. _Notum Daemonia_. She ran her hand over the thick red spine. After a quick look over her shoulder, she flipped to the _A_ s – _Alastair_. Her Latin wasn’t nearly as good as Sam’s, but there was a picture. Alastair was long and thin, almost needle-like, with an abundance of long, thin limbs. It reminded her of a millipede made of razor wire. She dashed upstairs with the books, a Latin dictionary, and a notepad.

It took her over an hour to transcribe, but roughly, she gathered Alastair was known to humanity from reports of people who had literally been to Hell and back. The damned reported Alastair was Hell’s chief torturer. There was a whole page of sickening reports of things he did, but they were all in Hell. Did Alastair ever come to Earth?

“Where you been?” asked Dean when Buffy returned to the dining room with her armload of books.

“Catnap,” she lied, settling in with a smile beside him and opening the first book she could grab.

“You’d think we’d put this stuff into some sort of handy computer database at some point,” pondered Xander out loud. “Instead of hours with musty old books, we could get answers with just a couple questions. Is it poisonous? Yes. Does it breath fire? No. Steals eyeballs? Very yes. Maybe we could get a Scooby intern, Buff? We could pay them half what we’re currently making.”

“There is plenty of no money to go around,” she replied.

Sam piped in, “That’s not a bad idea, actually.”

“Databases. This is why Sammy’s popular with the ladies. Ow!” Dean stuck his tongue out at his brother and leaned over to rub his shin.

Sitting back up, his hand found its way to Buffy’s knee. She shot him a sidelong glance, but kept reading. His calloused fingers slipped under her hem and rubbed little circles on the inside of her thigh. Her panties were still absent.

She grabbed his wrist. Leaning into him, she whispered, “You are being a very naughty boy tonight.”

He licked his lips. “What exactly are you going to do about that, Girly?”

“Bingo!” shouted Xander. “‘The Olanta demon comes to the surface once every seventy-five years – someone math for me!”

“Seventy-five years ago would be 1927,” Sam mathed.

“Every seventy-five years to lay its eggs. Human eyes fuel the mucusy secretion is uses to cover its eggs while they gestate. This snake-like demon has no arms or legs, but its tail is equipped with a stinger.’ That’s disgusting.”

“Oh! Did you say snake-like?” Buffy dashed into the living room and returned with the police file. “The police photos have this little weirdness among all the major weirdness.”

She handed a photo to Dean. “Look at the ground around where the body was.”

“Drag marks.” Dean passed the photo to Sam.

“That’s what I thought too, but the body wasn’t moved. Snake tracks!”

“So we got a big– is it big?”

“Big enough to kill people.”

“A big snake slithering around town, and no one’s seen it. Where the hell could it be?”

Xander reread the passage in his book. “It doesn’t say anything about Olanta nesting habits.”

“If it’s nesting, chances are good it wouldn’t want to stray too far from the eggs,” said Sam. “Where was the guy killed?”

Buffy flipped through the file. “On the playground of Discovery Elementary school. Dead guy was on the school board. He’d just left their monthly meeting.” She grabbed a map from a shelf. “The school is here on the edge of town.”

A flash of recognition crossed Dean’s face. “It’s that playground where–?”

“Yes,” Buffy responded, cutting him off. “Usually, I’d think a snaky-gross-demon would hide in the sewers where it’s damp, but the sewers don’t run that far out. Those deaths in Cleveland were on the lake, but there’s no lake near here. There’s a little forest right next to the playground, though. We could check it out in the morning, if it ever stops raining.”

Sam bit his lip and looked at Dean. “Should we risk it?”

“We’ll check it out with swords and axes, guys,” Buffy said, noticing their worried faces.

“It ain’t about getting jumped by this Atlanta demon.”

“Otlana.”

“Look, Cas moved us here to get away from demons,” said Sam. “So far, we’ve just hunted vampires in Sunnydale. I’m not sure going after one and announcing our presence is a good idea.”

“Demons are out for you specifically? Like, they have a Van Damme-esque score to settle?” asked Xander.

“They ain’t exactly our number one fan. Where we’re from, demons can’t be killed with swords and axes. You remember the part about demons in the meat suits.”

“Every night in my nightmares.”

Dean continued, “Yeah, well, most hunters, if they tangle with demons at all, perform an exorcism. All they can do is send the son of a bitch back to hell. It ain’t pretty, but we know how to kill them. They kind of want to put us down for that.”

“So you’re thinking that if you go after the Olanta, it will beep it’s demony cohorts that you’re in Sunnydale?” Buffy asked.

“Did you just say ‘beep’? God, I haven’t heard that in forever!”

“Shut up, future boy!” she said, smacking Dean in the arm.

“Buffy, we want to be with you on this, but we don’t know how they communicate here. If we were put here to stay safe, then maybe we should do some more research before hunting it,“ said Sam.

“I’m sure you’re fine, but to ease your mind, I know a guy we can talk to tomorrow. In the meantime, we should all get some sleep.”

While everyone else packed up for the night, Buffy followed Dean into the kitchen. “I forgot to clean up in here,” he said.

Grabbing fistfuls of his shirt, she pressed herself into the heat of his body. “How about we do it in the morning?”

Dean’s arms engulfed her; his hands firm on her back. Eagerly, he consumed her neck, his teeth grazing over her skin. He kissed her jaw, her cheek, each kiss a shock of electricity. When his full lips rested on hers, lightning shot through her core.

She bit his lip and sucked on him, greedy for more. A small jump and her legs were around his waist, her skirt around her hips, his hands supporting her bare ass.

“You win.” His deep drawl tickled her ear. “I gotta take Sam back, but leave your door unlocked. I’m gonna take you up on that challenge.”

* * *

 

Friday’s drizzle had turned into Saturday’s downpour. Saturday’s downpour was an encouraging reason for Buffy and Dean to stay safe and warm in bed instead of trudging through the woods looking for the Olanta. Her nibbling his ear. Him massaging her breasts. Catching up on sleep and squeezing in more sex between slow kisses. However, Sam had called wanting to know when they could meet Buffy’s mysterious contact, and Dawn was soon pounding on the bedroom door complaining about the lack of cereal. Reluctantly, they got dressed, shuffled Dawn into the Impala, and picked up Sam.

“I’m not sure he’ll even be up this early,” Buffy said as she sleepily snuggled up to Dean in the front seat.

“It’s after eleven,” noted Sam from the back. He couldn’t suppress his grin at the sight of Dean with his arm around a pretty girl, casually stroking her hair.

In the rearview mirror, Dean caught him staring and gave his brother the bird.

Sam small grin broke into a dimpled smile. “So if he’s not even up, why are we meeting this guy at Shady Acres Cemetery?”

“Better question,” said Dean, “does anything in this town happen not in a cemetery? If I was meeting a bunch a people on a crappy day like this, it’d be flapjacks and warm coffee.”

“Cemeteries, Hellmouth High, The Bronze, downtown. There aren’t a lot of other places in Sunnydale for things to happen,” said Dawn, “but there are at least three places serving pancakes all day if anyone wants to makes that dream come true.”

“We’re meeting Clem here because he lives in a crypt. He’s a demon,” Buffy yawned.

“He’s a _what_?”

“A _demon_? Buffy, why aren’t you knockin’ his ass back to Hell?”

“No!” shouted Dawn as she punched Sam’s arm.

“What was that for?” He sounded more confused than bothered.

“Dean’s driving and I know you were thinking it, too! You guys can’t kill Clem. He’s my friend.”

“Kiddo, demons ain’t your friend.”

“Clem is,” said Buffy, sitting up and frowning at Dean. “He’s perfectly harmless. Not bent on destruction. Doesn’t eat people. Tells lamer jokes than you. He’ll even watch Dawn in a pinch. Clem’s a sweetie.”

Dean rolled the word _sweetie_ around in his mouth. It did not taste good.

“Demons don’t want nothing but chaos and death. Even if you think they’re on your side, they ain’t. They’re just playing you, biding their time.”

“Maybe where you’re from, but not here. Most of them, yes. Most of them want to kill, eat or use humans. It’s like this thing I saw on the Discovery Channel a while ago. Australia is full of freaky, poisonous animals. There’s even a spider that eats birds. Birds! But just because Australia is full of deadly animals that doesn’t mean you should set the kola bears on fire. I kill things without souls that kill people – vampires, this Olanta demon, bird-eating spiders for sure. Not Clem. Such is the law of Buffy.”

* * *

 

They rolled into Shady Acres. “Okay, the crypt Clem is crashing is over there. Leave. Your weapons. In the car.”

The Winchesters left most of their knives in the back seat and dashed through the rain with the girls. Everyone was soaked by the time a pale, flabby monster in rubber ducky pajamas opened the crypt door.

“Buffy! Dawn! Come in! What brings you to my neck of the graveyard in this weather? Who are your friends?”

Sam and Dean stood slack-jawed and dumbstruck as the Slayer and her sister greeted the creature with warm hugs.

“Clem, it’s so good to see you! You’ve really made this place homey,” effused Dawn. “This is Dean and Sam Winchester. They’re new in town.”

“Never seen a demon before, huh?”

“Not like you, Clem. Are you busy? The guys actually wanted to ask you some questions.” Buffy lounged on a sarcophagus and enjoyed watching the hunters’ confused squirming.

“Not really. Day like today, I was hoping to catch up on my soaps. Just finished the first tape of _Passions_. Whew! That monkey is trouble. Have a seat. Anybody want some cocoa or a kitten?”

“Cocoa for me!” said Dawn, plopping into an old recliner and covering herself in a granny square blanket. The brothers stayed by the door while the demon plugged in a hot pot.

“Why is there an outlet in a mausoleum?” asked Sam.

Wide-eyed, Dean hissed, “That’s your big concern?”

“This is kind of a high class crypt,” explained Clem. “Electricity, back door, no sunlight. Not every demon finds a place this good. But you didn’t come all this way to talk decor. What do you want to know?”

“So, uh, what kinda demon, um, are you?” asked Dean with the awkward stumbling of a teenage boy making small talk with his girlfriend’s dad.

Clem wobbled the flesh on his arms. “Loose-skinned. Thought it was obvious. Boy, they haven’t seen many demons, have they? Marshmallows, Dawn?”

“We’re used to demons that look human, actually, that possess humans,” said Sam.

“Possess humans?” mused the demon while he poured some hot water into an _I hate Mondays_ Garfield mug. “You mean, like, controls a person via magic or are we talking campfire Linda Blair horror stories?”

Dean clarified, “Demon’s a cloud of smoke wearin’ a person like a prom dress.”

Jiggling all of his flaps, Clem laughed. “Buffy, where’d you dig these two up? I’ve heard stories like that, but they’re just stories. Humans who can send a demon back to Hell with the right incantation. Being bound inside one of those restricting bodies. Please!”

“So you’ve never heard of us?”

“Who are you again? I’m sorry. I’m bad with names.”

“Sam and Dean Winchester.”

Clem slurped his cocoa as he thought. “Nope, doesn’t ring a bell. Should I know you?”

“I guess not,” said Dean. “You guys, uh, catch up or whatever it is that this is. Sammy an’ I are gonna wait in the car. Koala my ass.”

Once the Winchesters were gone, Buffy grabbed Clem’s arm and whispered, “Have you ever heard of a demon named Alastair?”

The demon choked on his cocoa and began to cough. “Buffy, that’s mean! I don’t walk up to you and shout ‘Boo!’ while you’re trying to relax. _Alastair_. Ugh, just the name makes all of my skin crawl.”

“So you know him?” 

“No, thank God! I was born and bred on terra firma. I like it up here, and I have no interest in the affairs downstairs. Alastair is a old nightmare from the deepest pit of Hell.”

“What can you tell me about him? I read that he tortures the damned.”

Clem’s voice dropped to a whisper. He looked like a puppy afraid of a rolled up newspaper. “Yeah. He’s all sharp and pointy, made for slicing and dicing. He lives off of screams and agony.”

“He thrives down there? Would he ever want to come to, say, sunny California?”

“Far as I know, he’s always been in Hell. He _likes_ it there. I mean, we tell stories about him coming up here, but that’s just to scare each other.”

“Then I don’t need to worry about killing him.” 

“No offense, Buffy, I mean, you’re my favorite Slayer, but I don’t think you could. Alastair is very old and very strong. It would be easier to make vampires extinct than it would be to kill Alastair.”

* * *

 

“Stop asking me to wish bad things on Xander. I’m not falling for it,” Buffy said. She’d been on the phone with Anya for nearly half an hour sifting through nagging questions. “Thanks for the info though. That’s unusually helpful.” 

“Be careful around the Winchesters. They’re Code Orange at least.”

“Careful? Anya, do you actually care about what happens to me?”

“You’re right. I don’t, Pink. Please, continue your pattern of reckless behavior with men. I’m sure it will end in the usual tears or death.”

“Thank you. So much. Goodbye.”

Dawn had been upstairs matching outfits. She made her first appearance in over an hour as Buffy wrapped up her call. “How’s this? Too flower child?” asked Dawn modeling flared jeans and a white peasant top.

“Absolutely not.”

“Really? Good, I thought maybe I was just a daisy chain away from Woodstock.”

“No, I mean you’re not wearing that to school.”

“Why not?!”

“One, your midriff is showing. Two, that’s _my_ shirt.”

Dawn crossed her arms, which hiked the shirt up farther, and rolled her eyes. “So your stomach can be on display and mine can’t?”

“I’m not in high school.”

“No, in high school you were all microminis and go-go boots.”

“It was the 90s!”

“And this is the now!”

Dean, soaked and carrying several bags, came in through the back door.

“Tie-breaker!” squealed Dawn. “Dean, what do you think of girls showing off their midriff?”

He smiled as he put milk in the fridge. “I think it’s awesome.”

“We’re talking about my fifteen-year-old sister specifically.”

He frowned and handed Dawn two boxes of cereal. “No. Terrible. Bad idea. Listen to your sister; she’s just trying to look out for you.”

Dawn slammed the boxes on the counter and growled before stomping out of the room.

“Thank God I have a brother,” Dean muttered, shaking his head.

Buffy watched him unload his haul, filling her refrigerator and cupboards with essentials she’d long since run out of. “I didn’t realize errands included stocking my kitchen. That’s really sweet.”

“Sweet nothin’! This is strategizing. If the kid can feed herself the rest of the weekend, she won’t be dragging our asses out of bed. Got this too.” He tossed her a bag containing pajama pants. “As requested.”

“Is the plaid a Kansas thing or just a Winchester thing?”

“It was this or sports teams. What are the LA Quakes?”

“Football?” offered Buffy.

“Los Angeles doesn’t have a football team.”

“Shows what I know about sports balling. I prefer indoor athletics,” she said. “How about we go upstairs, I strip you out of those wet clothes, and we get warmed up?”

In a matter of minutes, they were in her room and down to their underwear. Buffy’s legs wrapped around Dean’s waist as she sat on her dressing table kissing his chest.

“I have an idea,” she said. “Let’s play a game.”

He flashed his eager, boyish smile and said, “Sex games? Does this involve role playing or is someone getting tied up?”

“Twenty questions.”

He looked at her quizzically. “Sex games are usually less talking, more doing. Unless it’s dirty talk which is a-okay.”

“I just want to know more about you. It’s not every day that I get to meet someone who knows what this life is like. You, jerk that you are, are a big silent wall of shush.” She nibbled his chest while her hand slid past his waistband.

His eyelids, rimmed with thick lashes, fluttered as she stroked him. He was happy and half-listening.

“Tell you what, I get to ask you twenty yes or no questions, see if I can get the answers I’ve been bugging you for. If I can, yay me.”

Dean sighed as she took his nipple in her mouth and swirled her tongue around the hard nub.

Releasing him, she continued, “If I can’t get any answers out of you, I’ll spend the rest of the weekend doing every _dirty_ fantasy you tell me to do. Sound good?”

“Sounds good.” His drawl half-chuckle.

Starting with an easy pitch, she asked, “Do you miss being on the road?”

“You think I could be thinking ‘bout long-ass trips and diner food with you looking so sexy?” He kissed her long and slow, his tongue begging entrance. The way his fingers dug into her thighs, she almost believed she could convince him to stay.

But he wouldn’t. She had to accept was an open pair of legs, nothing more on his list of conquests, and she had more important things to worry about than his feelings. “Sam said that he has lots of practice with injuries, but you, life-long hunter, don’t have any scars on your body. Did something make them magically disappear?”

Dean looked at her uncomfortably. “Yes,” he said after a long silence.

“The magical force that touched you, did it leave that handprint on your shoulder?”

Dean tried to move, but just ended up picking her off the table. “We’re not playing this. Buffy, there are things you just don’t need to know about me.”

He twisted and turned, but couldn’t pry her off.

“Don’t I?” She squeezed him tighter with her legs and tried to subdue his panicking hands with hers. “I’m not asking you fluffy girlfriend questions about your exes or your hobbies. I want to know what danger you’ve put me and Dawn in.”

She burned with the fuel of desperation, anger, and fear. She would do anything, cast aside anyone to protect her sister.

He turned still. Jaw clenched. “How’s ‘bout you get off a me and we skip the game. Tell me what you know.”

Buffy unlatched herself and sat on the bed.

“Damn, you’re strong. Not gonna lie, that’s hot. Kinda surprised we haven’t–”

“You haven’t even seen my full strength. Stop deflecting.”

Dean leaned against the wall, arms crossed, eyes closed, a building storm. “Go ahead.”

“I know demons are after you. I know you’re missing the scars you should have. I know that Alastair–”

His eyes darted her direction before quickly closing again.

“–is Hell’s big gun when it comes to torture, and he doesn’t like to go topside. Sam says he killed Alastair, but I know he’s nearly impossible to kill.

“I don’t know why or how, but I think Sam went to Hell to kill Alastair. Things didn’t go according to plan, and you went in to save your brother. You’ve died, Dean. You and Sam.”

A small twitch of pain flashed across his face.

“Your scars are missing because you were resurrected, and you were borrowing some major magic to pull the whole thing off. You’re not on the run because you know how to kill a garden variety demon. You two are assassins waging war against Hell.

“Now tell me, honestly, does you being here put me in danger? Put _Dawn_ in danger?”

* * *

 

Dean walked over to the window and gently pushed the curtains aside. The deluge was unrelenting. He’d wanted Buffy to remain completely ignorant of the Winchester dark side, but she was determined to turn on the lights. Even so, she didn’t know the story half as well as she thought she did. Did the details even matter? Alastair was still dead even if Buffy didn’t know where or why. Did his salvation at the hands of Heaven even need to be part of the story?

“These demons don’t make hot chocolate, Buffy. If they know we’re in Sunnydale, yeah, the shit’s gonna follow. It was selfish for us to stay here in the first place. Sam and I can leave to–”

“I don’t want you to leave!” Even she looked startled by the confession hanging in the air.

Buffy rose from the bed and held his hand. “I mean, leaving is your solution to everything, but that’s only running away from your problems. Part of having friends is helping them with their battles. I just need to know what’s coming. Honestly, I’d sleep better knowing you’re safe in Sunnydale – did I just say ‘safe in Sunnydale’? Anyway, safe with _me_ , than tearing around the country in a chase scene.”

How could he prepare her for Lucifer, for the Apocalypse? Since Cas had hidden them, was it even still a problem? The anger in her eyes had been replaced with concern, like she wasn’t playing lip-service to the misguided idea of protecting him.

She stretched up on her tiptoes; her lips brushed against his stubbled cheek then tenderly pressed against his own. Hand-in-hand, she guided him to the bed where they lay down, her arm protectively draped over his chest. He did not touch her. They measured the minutes with their breath.

After a long while, Dean said, “I don’t understand why you’d want to be involved in this mess.”

“I’m the Slayer, and I live on a Hellmouth. The fight will always come to me. I want to make sure you’re still alive when it does.”

“I ain’t worth fighting for, Girly.”

“Dean Winchester, demons are a guaranteed part of my life’s all-inclusive sweepstakes package. Good people aren’t. You may not think you’re worth anything, but I do.”

He slipped his arms around her, feeling the weight of her, the taut muscles under her skin, the lilac scent of her hair. He marveled that she was real. “How’d you figure all that out, anyway? ‘Bout Alastair an’ Hell?”

“I had to do a little research on Alastair, but the rest was a rerun. A vampire fed on me once.” She sat up and pointed at her neck. “The scar disappeared when I was resurrected almost a year ago. I, uh, sacrificed myself to save my sister.”

She looked away as she said it. Obviously, the people she was close to knew about this, but clearly, she didn’t say the words often, didn’t want to see his response.

Dean traced his calloused fingers over the spot where her scar had been. Softly, slowly, he kissed her neck. He kissed her ears, her eyelids, her mouth, worried an inch of her would get away unadored.

Tears streamed down her cheeks.

“Okay?” he whispered in her ear.

Fingers in his hair, she said, “Only if you keep kissing me.”

* * *

 

The day’s downpour had subsided. He leaned against a tree in the front yard and considered the darkened house. _Sleeping. Resting. Wait here? Go in? Surprise? No, no. Watch. Wait._ So he watched and waited.

A voice from upstairs. An open window. A moan. _Maybe the witch? The witch. A man. No. The bitch wasn’t alone._

He scratched at the bloody tracks over his heart. His skin a flame; his heart a red-hot coal.

Using the rose trellis, he hoisted himself toward the window. Blonde hair tossed back, she moaned as someone kissed her body. Spread over him, she danced a thumping, lustful rhythm.

_She wasn’t alone. She wasn’t alone. A man. She forgot. She never. No. She never. Goldie didn’t want to play with the bears anymore. You waste. Waste! Hide. Go. Now. Failure! Burns, burns for nothing. Burns even in death._


End file.
